


Seventeen

by Reylinne



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: And he has plans, First Kiss, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, I love making up my own canon, I would die for Bucky Barnes, I'm back on my Stucky Bullshit, It's Bucky's birthday!!, M/M, Stucky - Freeform, They're just kids figuring it all out ok, back in the day, lol!!!!, precious kids, sorry lmfao
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-13
Updated: 2019-06-13
Packaged: 2020-05-07 08:15:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,461
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19205443
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Reylinne/pseuds/Reylinne
Summary: "Rumlow said Bucky, and all of a sudden I was a 16 year old kid again in Brooklyn."Longing, Rusted,Seventeen, Daybreak, Furnace, Nine, Benign, Homecoming, One, Freight Car





	Seventeen

Steve’s left eye pops open. He squints as best as he can with half of his sight, afraid if he opens up fully he won’t be able to fall back asleep. Scanning the room for any sort of disturbance, his attention darts to the clock on the wall. 6:45 am. The room is lit by only a small sliver of light pouring through the curtains, the breaking of dawn inviting him to awaken.

_ Ugh. _

_ Not yet. _

He rolls over and yanks the covers up past his small neck, sighing out slowly and shrugging off whatever woke him up. It’s the weekend, and there’s absolutely no way that he’s going to voluntarily wake up at -

“Steve!” Weight crashes onto Steve’s bed, catapulting him a few inches above the mattress. He flails like a fish, arms desperately searching for anything to latch onto, legs slamming hard into a solid being.

“Ow,” Steve grumbles, grabbing his ankle, eyes flying up to his assailant.

“Ow is right,  _ jeez _ ,” It’s Bucky, rubbing his left shoulder with a laugh. “Can’t believe you just kicked me!” He exclaims, expression full of fake shock. His smile is holding strong: The boy has never been good at hiding his emotions. Can't keep a straight face.

Steve feels his jaw drop slightly, still half-asleep. “Wha-” He arches an eyebrow at his friend, who is giving him a devilish grin. Bucky hesitates, biting his lip before he lunges across the bed and rests on his elbows just to Steve’s right. There is definitely not enough space for him there, but as long as he is willing to risk certain death, Steve remains unbothered.

“Guess what day it is?” Bucky’s face lights up, and Steve doesn’t need to search his brain for even a single second. He knows the answer immediately, but he conceals that knowledge from Bucky.

Steve brings his index finger to his lips, pouting them out, patting them. His eyes scan around awhile before he feels a slight tap on his wrist. “There’s no way you forgot-”

“Of course not. I could never forget,” Steve runs a hand through his blond hair in a feeble attempt to wake himself up, “It’s your birthday, Buck!” 

The barely-hidden fear in Bucky’s eyes fades. Relief clearly washes over him and he scrambles to sit up next to Steve, who is moderately surprised at how afraid Bucky looked at the mere thought of Steve forgetting his special day; In truth, Steve cannot even fathom the concept of it for he would certainly wash over his own birthday before he could ever forget his best friend's.

The sunlight is blinding poor Bucky, a few crucial inches taller than Steve. His blue eyes are golden for the split second before he places his hand across his forehead in an attempt to shield himself from the bright rays. “Will you hurry up and get taller?” He signals to the window.

Steve snorts, raising himself to his knees to try to block the glare. “Better?”

Bucky shakes his head, hair still goofily matted down in all sorts of funky places. The corners of Steve’s mouth perk up. The boy clearly woke up early and snuck out of the house, a silent daybreak mission. “Not much. Trade with me,” He mumbles, snatching Steve’s hand and pulling him temporarily onto his lap to switch spots. Steve’s breath snags in his throat for a moment, hand on his friend’s thigh. He nearly slips off his tiny mattress but Bucky instinctively grabs his arm, capturing him.

“Wow, what would I do without you, Birthday Boy?” Steve runs his thumbs along his knuckles, avoiding eye contact. Embarrassing.

“Fall on your face, I think,” Replies Bucky, a tiny laugh escaping him. He points to his legs: So much thicker and stronger than Steve’s.

Steve inhales sharply, pursing his mouth firmly into a flat line.

He’s always been a little bit jealous of Bucky.

... _ Quite a bit _ jealous of Bucky.

“Here,” Bucky says softly, his voice near a whisper, almost as if he is talking to himself. He reaches his hands out to Steve’s bony hips and closes the distance between them with ease, linking their calves together. “Now you won’t fall off.”

He speaks the words calmly, nonchalantly, flashing that toothy grin of his. Notorious for getting him out of any trouble he’d gotten into, for winning over the favour of anyone he’s in the vicinity of, for giving Steve hope and brightening his day. Steve nods, picking at his fingernails anxiously. He can’t believe he nearly fell off of the bed. Just another way he’s mortified himself in front of Bucky the stronger, wiser, older.

_ Older. _

He’s officially another year older.

Right.

Bucky’s a year older than Steve, and it has sure felt like it their entire lives: Steve is scrawny and short while Bucky is fit and athletic. Nobody messed with Bucky and everybody messed with Steve.

“Seventeen,” Steve raises both eyebrows in Bucky’s direction; He’s still beaming smugly. He tips his chin and scrapes at his neck with his fingers.

“I’m practically a grown man,” He leans in closer, the warmth of his breath on Steve’s cheeks. “Look, I’ve nearly got a full beard.”

Steve shoves him away playfully. He knows that he isn’t strong enough to move Bucky on his own, so he takes notice when Bucky leans back, chortling. He’s painfully aware that he could punch his friend with full force square in the jaw and Bucky would not even flinch. Better to ignore it than to think too much about his own lack of strength. “You’re practically dead, Buck!”

The brunet gets silent for a moment, before meeting Steve’s eyes once again. “I have something planned, if you wanna come,”

“Aren’t I supposed to make the plans? It’s your birthday, you goofball.”

Bucky toys with the fabric hem along the bottom of Steve’s pajama pants. Steve loves watching all of the things that Bucky does absentmindedly - it’s darling to him. He gazes longingly at Bucky as he does this, still wrought with the phantom feeling of stiff hands along his waist. He’s snapped from reverie by the feeling of heat skimming his ankle. It’s Bucky, speaking directly to him now, his hand unintentionally touching Steve’s bare skin. “I feel like it’s always you doing things for me.”

Steve scoffs, both in disbelief and partially to shake the odd queasy feeling in his gut. “Are you kidding me?” He pokes at Bucky’s chest. “It’s the complete opposite. You are  _ always _ there for me. Always picking up my slack, always coming in and saving the day, always something up your sleeve.” His jab turns into his palm resting on the other’s torso, unfurling against Bucky’s loose shirt.

Bucky idles for a moment before his look slowly evolves into a smirk. “Come with me.” He tugs on Steve’s arm, helping him out of their entanglement. He pauses with his hand on the doorknob. “Meet me outside that little bar off of Willoughby at ten-thirty,” He points a finger at Steve, who is already opening a drawer and pulling out something to wear, “And bring a fun hat.” 

 

Steve feels ridiculous.

He yanks on the tail of his raccoon hat self consciously, ignoring all of the stares and heavily targeted comments he is receiving from passersby in the streets. He nervously fumbles with the box in his hands, wrapped up tightly in blue paper and accented with quite possibly the worst tied bow in the country. A sixteen year old kid wandering the early streets of bustling Brooklyn with a Davy Crockett style hat and a terribly adorned birthday box must truly be a sight out of the ordinary, Steve thinks, because all of the heads turning his direction is astonishing. 

He’s nearly twenty minutes early, but he knows how punctual Bucky is. He’s oddly anxious: He can feel his palms sweating and his heart racing. He can’t find Bucky anywhere as he approaches their meeting destination. He slows his pace down. Perhaps he did beat his friend here. There’s no way that Bucky would have jokingly sent him to the wrong-

“Boo!” Bucky leaps out in front of Steve from the side alleyway, causing the box to topple sadly from his grip onto the hard cement.

Steve lets out a petrified shriek - one that he would never admit to making - before quickly collapsing to the pavement to desperately try to save his gift.

“Oh, shit,” Bucky notices what’s happening and sinks down to the ground.  He watches intently as Steve shakily presents him the box.

“I-I’m sorry, Buck, it’s gonna be ruined, I didn’t mean to get so scared, I-”

Heat surrounds Steve’s trembling limbs as Bucky encloses his hands around Steve’s wrists, holding them steady. “It’s my fault.  _ I’m _ sorry. I hope I didn’t wreck it,”

Steve closes his eyes, lip quivering. Stupid. Stupid,  _ stupid _ . He’s always screwing everything up. He should have known better. He knows Bucky is always early, he should have checked down the alley, he should have-

And all of a sudden he’s being pulled into an embrace, his chin nestling itself comfortably in the crook of Bucky’s neck. “I love it.”

He hadn’t even noticed Bucky opening the box, had been too blinded by his embarrassment. He’s flustered by the abrupt sensation, awkwardly bringing his hands up to return Bucky’s touch. He cups his hands around the other’s shoulder blades, strong and stiff. Bucky’s weight shifts as he half-pulls out of the hug prematurely before Steve is quite ready for it to finish. He sets down the box with his now-free hand, other arm still lingering around Steve’s shoulders.

“I’m going to eat this immediately!” Bucky roars excitedly. “It looks even better with the frosting all over the place. But I’m sure you knew that, and that’s why you launched it at the ground.”

Steve forces a smile at the destroyed cupcake. It was supposed to be one big dessert instead of a bunch of little ones, but it fell apart upon impact, very underdone. Steve never claimed to be a baker.

Bucky scrapes the pieces out of the box, licking his fingers. Each one exits his mouth with a  _ pop.  _ “It’s not even fully cooked!” He laughs, wiggling his body against Steve’s. “Share this with me. C’mon,”

“Oh, so you want me to get sick too?” Steve retorts, gingerly grabbing a slimy piece of half-baked cupcake.

Bucky shoots him a faux icy glare, spilling batter all over his chin. “So you  _ were _ trying to kill me, huh?”

“Can’t let you turn 18 and move away from me,” Steve growls teasingly.

“You’ve got forever before that happens.”

A creeping sadness grows deep in his belly. “Sure is gonna feel like no time, though.” He can’t imagine life without Bucky. And though he’d never confess it to him or anyone else, Steve often has nightmares about Bucky leaving him when he becomes an adult. About Bucky not waiting for _ him _ to turn 18 almost a year and a half later. Moves across the country, across the world. Miles and miles away, leaving Steve to have no one. Because even when he has no one else, he’s got Bucky. Always has.

Hopes he always will.

“What are you talking about, you dolt? I  _ just _ turned seventeen. A year is a long time.”

Steve rests his head against the other’s shoulder as he sops up the rest of the disgusting cupcake. “Just can’t bear the thought of being without you,” He whispers.

“Huh?” Bucky mumbles, sloppily licking the inside of the wrapping paper. 

Steve chuckles and pushes him away. He isn’t sure if Bucky truly did not hear him, or if he just wanted to be complimented a second time so he chooses to move on without repeating himself. “You’re so gross, Buck,”

Bucky nods cooly before his eyes widen. He points to a little box as it falls out of the bottom of the wrapping paper.  “There’s more?”

Steve smiles, drifting down to it as Bucky pries it open like a child on Christmas morning. He holds the present in his huge palm, admiring it with his jaw ajar.

“Wow, Steve, you shouldn’t have,” He says monotonously, and Steve can’t fully tell if he has no expression because he’s shocked or if he hates it.

“Do you like-”

“I love it,”

Okay.

Bucky quickly attempts to fasten the watch on his wrist, failing miserably. “Help me,” He holds his arm out to Steve, who rubs his cupcake hands on his pants before clicking the gift into place. Bucky’s eyes are blown, so blue in the morning light, admiring every detail on the watch. “How did you afford this?” He shakes his head, hair messing up slightly in the quick movement. “Wait, wait, wait - don’t tell me you’re a bank robber.”

“I thought you were supposed to be wise in your old age,”

Steve is suddenly aware of the fact that they’re plopped down in the middle of the sidewalk, busy weekend business folk and workers alike scrambling to be somewhere around the obstacle of two teenage boys eating dessert for breakfast like heathens.

“We should get going.”

Bucky breaks from his trance, quickly standing up. “Wait,” He says, running into the alley and crouching down behind a dumpster. Perhaps thirty seconds pass before he emerges wearing a tricorn hat. “How do I look?” He produces a feather seemingly from out of nowhere, sticking it staunchly into the hat.

A snort escapes Steve, clenching his gut in a fit of laughter. “Like a pirate!”

Bucky arches his index finger. “Come along, matey,”

 

Bucky, in typical Bucky fashion, has led Steve up thirteen flights of stairs. They’d had to stop and take multiple breaks to allow Steve to catch his breath. Bucky didn’t make fun of him one single time for it, and Steve is eternally grateful.

“Keep going, c’mon, we’re almost there,” He’d urged until finally, the last three floors, he lifts Steve up, swinging legs across his body in one swift movement. “Hold my neck,” He motions with his head to his opposite shoulder, and Steve wraps both of his arms around his friend.

Steve feels like he should be offended, should be jealous that Bucky is carrying him effortlessly up the stairs. That he’s barely panting with the extra weight in his strong arms, and Steve still can hardly breathe even after this break. But he’s comfortable and content here with the other boy, secured tightly. He scans Bucky as he climbs; He’s facing forward mostly, giving Steve a chance to stare and take mental notes. Bucky’s dark hair, dark eyebrows, bright eyes, strong jaw. Just observes him, trails the line of his cheekbones, up to his eyelashes. By the time Bucky finally extends out and cracks the door at the top of the stairs, Steve doesn’t realise what’s happening or where they are.

“Steve?” Bucky is peering at him, straight into the back of his skull. Steve breaks from his haze. He’s still being held, carried for not a reason any longer. And Steve is startled by his closeness to the other boy, worried he’d caught him studying his characteristics. Worried he would think Steve is weird, worried he’d be distraught to have their faces only inches apart. But Bucky’s question was not a command to stop - wasn’t anything, really, except a single word that means everything coming from him.

_ Steve. _

Steve’s name is irrelevant to him in a strange way, impersonal unless coming from those he cared for. A term used for referring to him from others’ perspectives. People talking miscellany, describing him when he is not there. But in this moment, a basketball forms in his throat at the mention because for some reason the raspiness of his name from Bucky’s throat felt like it had kicked him in the ribs. 

“Bucky,” Steve utters lamely,  _ stupidly _ , and Bucky doesn’t reply with chat, but with a stare. A stare that hasn’t been broken since he’d stopped walking. He’s looking down at Steve - still intertwined with his own body - eyes shifting between his features, dark lashes casting shadows along his cheeks. And Steve returns it, consuming every piece of Bucky.

“Hey,” Bucky finally says, quietly, and all at once Steve is conscious of how pink Bucky’s lips are, the few freckles that dot his cheeks and his nose, the weak starts of facial hair lining his upper lip and jaw, the little dimple in his chin. Bucky’s pupils are the size of the moon, as if they too are absorbing everything they can. Black holes, pulling Steve farther and farther into their orbit.

Thoughts are racing through his brain at a speed incomprehensible. Only one can he manage:  _ What is Bucky thinking? _

He tries to pry into Bucky’s head via his eyes. Soulful orbs full of a complete spectrum of emotion. Steve is fully aware that he’s boring into Bucky’s entire consciousness. Swimming through uncertainty, it’s unclear if it’s been thirty seconds or ten minutes. His fingers dig sharply into Bucky’s neck and he notices him straighten out his back a little bit, connection never faltering. A tiny smile makes its way to Bucky’s face, his eyebrow cocking up slightly as he slides his arm tighter around Steve's torso.

_ What is this? _

Steve can’t comprehend all of the feelings flooding his body, this strange sensation. A fire has spread throughout his veins, sending shockwaves to each and every extremity. The other boy smells of a mixture of warm bakery and the woods surrounding a campfire, smokey and inviting. Bucky’s grasp is foreign, touch quite different than two best friends sharing a quick handshake. It’s curious - hungry, even - and even someone as naive and inexperienced as Steve can understand that for reasons quite unbeknownst to him, their relationship has just taken the most unexpected of twists.

Bucky huffs out a breath, closing his eyes for a moment before nearly dropping Steve. He looks to his feet, digging his heels into the gravely rooftop. When he shifts his gaze back up to Steve, Bucky is a different person. Even older, almost. As if the gap between sixteen and seventeen truly is a decade. He lifts his hat from his head and runs a hand through his dark hair, bites his bottom lip hungrily. Steve can't read Bucky at all, he looks both uncomfortable and ravenous all at once.

He looks how Steve feels. But he can’t dissect it.

Still unable to catch his breath, Steve is very enlightened to the fact that it’s due to nerves and unease in this situation, less to do with the usual asthma or whatever health problem was affecting him today. Excitement. Something new. 

_ What is this?  _ Steve thinks to himself once again, placing his hand over his chest, grinding his knuckles against his sternum.

_ Stop being weird, Rogers. Stop it. _

The view.

The cityscape around them broad and inviting, clouds barely grazing the horizon. Buildings towering above, much less so than when they were mere ants on the sidewalk below. Beautiful, really. 

_ Beautiful. _

Steve rolls his head over to Bucky, who’s running his hands across his face, forehead crinkled slightly. He’s conflicted. The wind cards through his hair, chilly and forthright. Bucky appears to be more at unease than even himself. Whatever it was that Steve was feeling, perhaps Bucky is feeling the same.

_ Say something. _

“You bring a lot of girls up here, Buck?”

Okay, quite possibly the worst and most idiotic thing to say. Steve refuses to look at his friend, unsure if he should. Sort of wishes he could stitch his mouth closed.

“Yeah, I have,” Comes the insincere response from somewhere behind him now, and Steve isn't sure he believes Bucky really  _ does _ bring girls here. He chooses to evade the topic, to ignore Bucky’s presence behind him for awhile to try to avoid discussing it further. He’s positive Bucky is thankful for it.

After a few moments of nothing but the sounds of the city bustling beneath them, Steve finally tosses a glance over to Bucky, who is rubbing his temple and staring out over the landscape. It’s precious: Bucky looking awkward and nervous for perhaps the first time since Steve’s known him, standing up tall in a feathered hat with the morning sun casting him gold.

“Hey, Buck?” Steve takes a reluctant step towards the other, and Bucky analyzes him over his shoulder. He approaches gradually, and once he’s close enough for the breeze to be blocked by Bucky’s tall frame, he tilts his head up.

“Yeah?” Bucky's expression is uncertain and distant.

Steve’s hands fly to his face, digging his fingers into his eyes in overwhelming exasperation.

_ Breathe. _

“I think I can hear your heart,” Bucky calmly turns to Steve. He smiles a goofy smile, in his goofy pirate hat, “Or maybe it’s just mine beating too hard and too loud.” His stare shifts from the vista expanding out in front of the two of them down to his beat-up sneakers.

A kaleidoscope of butterflies releases within Steve’s stomach, the fluttering so intense he swears he could cough out an insect any second. “I… I think you’re right,” Steve says, muffling a shy laugh with his palm. “Because my heart feels like it’s ready to explode from my chest.”

Bucky shifts his weight from one foot to the next, inspecting Steve with a soft expression Steve’s not sure he’s seen before. No longer desirous or fiery, but temperate and cool. “Do I make you nervous?” He murmurs, voice so quiet that the city nearly drowns his words in all of its sounds.

A wildfire spreads throughout Steve’s face and he hates himself for it. He begins to reply, but Bucky’s giggle interrupts him.

“I think that’s my answer.” Steve is mortified that Bucky has drawn attention to his furious blush. He steps toward Steve, reaching a strong arm around his body. Steve can feel movement from behind him, assumes it’s Bucky playing with the raccoon tail dangling down from the hat.

Steve smiles, hands covering his heated cheeks. “How do I…” Hesitates. “...know how to tell someone I fancy them?” Shivers cascade throughout his body as Bucky’s hand transfers from the furry hat to his thin waist. “I...I’ve never really-”

“I fancy you,” Bucky tilts his head back confidently. “I beat ya to it.”

Steve coughs in response - breath short, shocked, disbelief - he’s actually thankful for Bucky one-upping him this time.

Bucky notices the surprise Steve is wearing on his sleeve and shrugs, pretending to look anywhere but at the blond boy. “What can I say? I’m older and wiser,”

“Yeah, wow,” Stupidly, Steve pokes at the pirate hat. It doesn’t feel real, what Bucky's just said to him. It is as if the words were meant for someone else. Steve ponders on the subject for a moment, wondering just how long he's had feelings for his best friend. Wonders how long his best friend has had feelings for  _ him. _ If Bucky had felt this way, why hadn't he said anything?

Steve supposes that he's probably had a crush on Bucky for quite awhile. Bucky - so strong and full of conviction. He'd shrugged off all of the times that his stomach twisted and turned around when Bucky had hugged him, the way his heart skipped beats at night when they'd stargaze together, how he'd always preferred to sleep next to Bucky in a blanket fort on the floor instead of his own cozy bed.

“You know, I brought you up here for a reason.” Bucky says carefully. His hand is firmly against Steve’s ribcage, and even though _ this  _ type of touch is alien to him, it’s welcome. Time has stopped - no cars in the distance, no wind, no sounds of Brooklyn humming beneath them. No other people in New York: Only Bucky, his cute hat, his cute mouth, his cute chin, and the thudding inside of Steve’s chest.

“Mhm?”

“Mhm,” Bucky echoes, using his left arm to cup the back of Steve’s head right below where the raccoon hat is resting. “Is this okay?”

Steve nods sheepishly. He inhales deeply before clumsily pulling himself closer to the other boy. Bucky visibly snickers at him and his lack of skill, though it doesn’t bother Steve in the slightest. 

“I brought you up here because it’s my favourite place in the city,” His hand slides down, warming up Steve’s neck. “And you’re my favourite guy.”

Steve closes his eyes and rests his cheek against Bucky’s chest. The world has completely flipped upside-down, and he feels ignorant, childish, and naive. Of course Bucky isn’t turned off by his inexperience, but it doesn’t stop Steve from feeling like an idiot. Bucky lets him idle there against his body for some time, and Steve is extremely grateful. “Why the goofy hats?”

Bucky laughs heartily, and Steve feels the other’s torso jolt against his face. “They’re having some sort of fair down the road. And they’re taking photographs of the first one hundred customers. I figured we could go.”

“That’s why you were up so early, huh?”

Bucky nods, flashing his teeth.

“Shall we go?”

“Not yet,” Bucky reaches down and takes Steve’s hand in his own. “It doesn’t start until twelve noon. We have a second.”

“Yeah, alright.” They part. Steve takes in the view of the city for a few moments before following Bucky over to where he’s taken a seat on a little bench towards the edge of the rooftop.

“I’m afraid of growing up, you know,” Bucky says softly, sensing his presence. He turns to look at Steve, his eyes big and pupils nearly swallowing the ocean of blue. If there has ever been a more relatable statement, Steve sure hasn’t heard it. Bucky has taken the words directly from his thoughts.

“I’m afraid of  _ you _ growing up too,”

Bucky arches an eyebrow. He folds his arms across his chest, questioning that statement without being vocal about it. He pats the spot next to him, scooting over a tiny bit to make some room for Steve.

“I’m afraid that you’re going to leave me. Grow up and leave me here by myself. You’re all I’ve got, Buck,”

Bucky rolls his eyes and crosses his ankles. “Don’t be a clown,” He smirks, marginally nudging Steve’s shoulder. “I love you, buddy.”

Steve freezes, eyes darting over to Bucky’s feet, terrified to look at his face. Normally, he wouldn’t have thought anything about that statement, something you’d say to your mother or your brother. But suddenly he is overcome with multiple emotions assaulting him at once.

“Foolish,” Bucky groans, heaving a sigh. He looks exhausted, digging his knuckle into his forehead in self-aggravation. “I uh, didn’t really mean -”

“No no, it’s okay, I…” Steve purses his lips and swallows the breath he’d been holding. He kicks pebbles around on the roof with the toe of his shoe, sitting in a surprisingly comfortable silence for what simultaneously feels like hundreths of a second and ten hours. When he finally looks up at Bucky, he appears to be biting his cheeks, lost in thought. “Bucky?”

“Steve,” Bucky responds immediately, coldly, so perhaps he is completely present in the moment and a little less lost than originally imagined. Steve feels shame overcoming him like a blanket tightening over his face, cutting off his air supply. Like this whole plight is wrong, like they shouldn’t be here, like these feelings are invalid.

But he knows in his heart that they’re not.

Turning his body towards the other, Steve reaches out his hand.

Bucky’s eyes shift from Steve’s face to his hand back to his face. He reluctantly places his palm in Steve’s. “I really messed up, didn’t I?”

“No, no, not at all,” Steve says, but he knows his expression is giving away his discomfort and shock. Not because he wants to appear this way, but because he truly was not expecting this to happen. Not expecting to come up here with Bucky as friends and to leave as something different entirely. His eyes linger on Bucky’s lips, pouty and full. He grazes his thumb along Bucky’s chin, resting in its little divot. 

Bucky tosses a glance in Steve’s direction, eyes as full of hunger as they were previously, a fire behind them that isn’t totally unfamiliar. He takes Steve’s hand in his own, intertwining their fingers together at shoulder level. “I will never leave you,” Bucky whispers faintly, leaning in and resting his forehead against Steve’s. “I promise.”

“Hey, uh…” Steve huffs, nuzzling his friend’s nose. “...will you kiss me, Bucky? Please?” Steve huffs, nuzzling his friend’s nose. He can feel Bucky’s eyelashes tickle his cheeks, a tingle in his belly as Bucky’s hand finds its way back to its proper place against his hip as he scoots closer.

“Was that permission?” Bucky says slyly, tone dripping with confidence Steve longs to have for himself.

“Uh huh,” Steve’s lips brush against Bucky’s smiling cheek. He feels himself gasp at the lightning from his touch.

“I need a verbal ‘yes’, Rogers,” Bucky pulls back, and the abrupt lack of heat stuns Steve. His eyes shoot open, and Bucky smirks at him. How embarrassing for him to be able to see how flustered Steve is.

“Yes, yes,” Steve grips Bucky’s neck stiffly and drinks in the view of the other boy as his face inches closer, the warmth of the foreign feeling of another’s lips against his own overwhelming and exciting.

Their kiss is brief, Bucky pulling away quickly and running his tongue across his bright teeth with a grin. Steve laughs at himself, cheeks hot as molten lava. “So?” Bucky asks, making a silly face.

“I can’t believe I just kissed my first mate!” Steve cackles.

“Your what!? I’m totally the captain.” Bucky crinkles his nose. “...Actually, you’re right. I think you’d be a much better captain than I would.”

Steve shrugs, raising his index finger into a hook. “Arrg,”

Bucky throws his head back, hands gripping Steve’s arms. “Stop! You’re ruining the moment, punk,”

“Jerk,” Steve leans forward, chasing Bucky’s escape. “One more?”

Bucky looks down his nose at Steve and sticks his tongue out. “Wow, it really is my birthday, huh?”

Steve can’t believe he’s had his first kiss with Bucky Barnes of all people - his best friend in the universe - on Bucky’s birthday, freshly seventeen on this springtime day wearing a pirate hat on a rooftop in early morning Brooklyn. “One more and then we go get photographed.”

Bucky closes his eyes, pretending to think about it briefly before he swoops down and plants another kiss to Steve’s lips, then another, and another. Each one quick, light, and pleasant. He pulls back only slightly, staring at the other boy. Bucky tilts his head a little to the side. It’s a staring competition between the two: breath damp and heavy, smelling sweet like cupcake batter and sugary frosting.

“Did you know that you have freckles?” Steve whispers so quietly he can hardly hear himself.

Bucky scoffs. “Did you know you’re a goofball?” He reaches up, knocking Steve’s raccoon hat to the ground and tangling his hand in his blond hair. He’s joking around, sure, but nevertheless, Steve can sense how nervous Bucky is. Can feel his heartbeat, can see through his confidence. And it’s completely reciprocated, because Steve is pretty positive he might pass out post-adrenaline rush before they even make it to the fair.

Pouty lips crash against Steve’s one more time, this time different than the rest, more intimate with Bucky’s warmth along his scalp, his lower back. Steve can feel Bucky smiling into their embrace even as Steve clashes his teeth against Bucky’s. He appreciates his friend’s willingness to ignore the disgusting clinking; he knows he’s useless in this department. They bump noses a couple of times, Steve has to catch air for a second, and when they part, Steve feels like his lips are all swollen and red.

“I’m...really bad at this.”

Bucky lets out the laugh he’s clearly been holding in the whole time. “Yeah, you really are,” He musses Steve’s hair and plants the funny hat back in its home on his head. “But you’ll get better the more you do it.” He winks at his pal, standing up and dusting off his pants. He holds out his hand to Steve.

“I still can’t believe you’re seventeen,” Steve says dumbly, organs jumping around inside his body, limbs still trembling.

“Me neither, and now you’ve gone and made this my favourite birthday. How are you gonna be able to top it next year?”

Steve rubs his eyebrows. “Ugh, don’t make me plan that far in advance, Buck,”

Bucky snorts, helping Steve up. “C’mon Davy, let’s go get our photo taken.”

“Aye aye, not-captain!” 

**Author's Note:**

> I'm back on my Stucky bullshit all of a sudden, and it kind of feels like it's 2014 again lmao.  
> Much love friends.


End file.
